=burn diary=

Hearing Mommy & Daddy Fighting
on the Other Side of the Wall

There I am, in the corner, crouched, in terror, listening. Their words were incomprehensible to me: not so much words but cries...guttural, animal-like, violent…a proto-language of pain punctuated occasionally by the heavy thud of objects (bodies?) and shattering glass. I couldn't make out what they wanted, what they were so angry about. It was simply anger and frustration they were expressing in its most elemental form. As best as I could tell: Daddy wanted something he desperately needed to live that he wasn't getting; Mommy was unable to give whatever was being asked of her; she might not even have known what it was…it might not have existed in her world.  I could barely distinguish between them—Mommy/Daddy.  From my side of the wall, they sounded like one big tortured animal—one big terrifying monster—stabbing suicidally away at each other, wounding each other in unspeakable ways, unable to separate from each other, blind with fury. They were bound inextricably by one flesh, unable to declare victory or concede defeat no matter how much pain they caused each other. And, out of sight, out of mind, probably without even realizing it, with every blow they struck, it was me, unseen in the next room, that they were stabbing to death.